


The Science of Living Again

by likebunnies



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likebunnies/pseuds/likebunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he was shot, Josh and C.J. find healing in an unexpected place--each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Science of Living Again

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this back in October of 2000. It was a different world then. While my heart will always belong to Josh/Donna, I always liked the idea of C.J. and Josh just having fun. --Jori

Josh Lyman's Apartment  
November 7, 2000

"Donna's been very protective of you."

"I'm sorry," he says, giving me a somewhat apologetic look as he walks across the kitchen and hands me another bottle.

I'm not quite sure which one of us this has been the hardest on. Those that weren't there suffered just as much as those that were. The whole office suffered and nothing was gained for the pain.

"She didn't move in here, did she? Because I've got to tell you that would be a PR nightmare at this point, my friend," I say, emptying little dribbles of beer out into the sink and setting the empty bottles on the counter. Last time I was here, the sink was filled with empty glasses and dirty forks. Now it is empty. Donna has been taking care of him.

"No, CJ, she didn't move in. She just brings me lunch and makes sure I don't breath fresh air," he says, sounding defeated and tired. "I'm surprised she went home as early as she did. I'm surprised she let you to stay. She . . . she just worries."

"Ready to come back into the trenches with the rest of us?" I ask, leaning back against the kitchen counter and drying my hands on a clean dish towel. Josh is sitting on a kitchen chair, his coat still wrapped around him. Maybe I should have gotten him a robe, too, but I'm sure someone thought of that already.

"I've been ready," he says, his eyes flickering with a spark desperate to escape and run rampant.

We say nothing. Just watch each other in silence. We've talked every day on the phone since he's been able to hit the speaker button on his own but this is the first time Donna let us anywhere near him. I think Sam snuck in once but the rest of us . . . it would have taken an executive order to let us near.

That's too bad. I missed him.

I look down at my hands and sigh.

He's missed the healing that's been going on in the outside world. The healing taking place in our wing of offices. Maybe it's been for the best that none of us saw him. He probably didn't need one more person to unload on him. He's been through enough.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks and I take my eyes off the checkered pattern on the towel.

"I've . . . been okay. We've all been okay. Toby was a little out of control for a while, but I think he's reigned it back in. We've been . . . angry, Josh. All of us," I explain. I hang the towel over a drawer knob so it can dry and walk over to him. "How about you? I mean, besides becoming a theoretical Einstein, how've you been doing?"

He looks up at me and wipes his fingers across his eyes. I figured that's how he's been doing.

"You want me to make you some coffee?" I ask and he shakes his head 'no.'

"Here's the amazing thing about extended hospitalization. It also serves as a wonderful detox unit. Whatever your vice might be, they replace it with a desire to consume mass quantities of lime jell-o instead" he says, smiling. "I couldn't have coffee with caffeine so why bother."

"I'm sure that will change once you're back to working days that have no end," I say, and he looks down at the tabletop.

"It will be nice to get out of here."

"But not nice to get back there?"

He thinks about it for a moment too long.

"Yeah. It will be. At least you won't have to deal with me on the phone anymore," he says.

"You were a pain in the ass. There were days I wondered if you survived to make my life hell."

"You know, CJ, when I was lying there dying, my thoughts were focused only on surviving to make your life hell," he says. He looks at me and then back down.

Most of us have avoided discussing this in specifics. How we felt during or after or even now. Sam and I spoke about it for a second and went on with work. Toby has tried to take it out on every person who's ever made a racial slur. I don't even know how Charlie has survived it all.

And then there's Josh. The only one who has had to heal without seeing how the rest of us were doing.

"You know, you can take your coat off, Joshua. I've seen plenty of men in their pajamas and have been able to resist their charm," I say. He stands up and shrugs off his coat, tossing it over the back of a chair.

"You want to sit in the other room?" he asks, pointing to the mess that is his living room. His kitchen might be clean, but his living room is covered in books and papers. I'm sure each and everyone is about psychics. Or physics. Or something no one understands unless they've been convalescing for months on end.

I follow him into the living room and sit down on one end of the couch while he sits on the other. I kick off my shoes, tucking my feet up under me as I look around. Not only is there a pile of books, but there's a treadmill I know he didn't have the last time I was here.

"So, you hop on that thing and think about quantum physics?" I say, motioning to the piece of equipment centered right in front of the TV.

"No. Usually I hop on that thing and listen to Donna tell me I should be happy that I'm alive and to stop bitching having to hop on that thing. Funny thing is, one of the few things I remember from right before this happened is I went jogging. I don't remember where or with whom, but I was out jogging. There have been days where I've despised the very existence of the Nordic Track company yet I used to be able to get out and jog," he says, playing with the sleeve of the pajamas I bought him. They hang off of his body and it creates this sad, childlike feeling.

"Hoynes. You were out with Hoynes," I say and he looks at me as if I could be making it up. "Why didn't you ask Donna that?"

"I didn't think about it until now. Donna has been helpful, but . . . she just wasn't there. She doesn't know," he says, pushing his sleeves up his arms.

"Donna knows a lot, Josh. I think she's just . . ."

"Protecting me. Yeah. So you've said," he says, looking at me. "Protecting me from what?"

"You were shot, Josh. You went to work one day and some kids tried to kill you . . ."

"They weren't trying to kill me. They weren't some Neo-Nazi Hitler's Youth or anything out after the Jews working in the White House. They were out after a kid who doesn't get paid nearly enough for what he does yet still continues to show up at his job every single day," he says, anger rising up in his voice. Good thing Donna did keep Toby away from him. The two of them could have done some serious damage.

"And you're upset that you haven't been able to come back yet?"

"I don't know what I'm most upset about. I don't know why people have to protect me. I don't know why the fuck I was stuck here when I could have been out there trying to win us some seats in the House. You were all stuck with the work because some kids with a bug up their ass placed there by their parents with even bigger bugs up their asses had to go after a kid because he's black and in the spotlight."

"Well, two of them are dead if that makes you feel any better," I say.

"No, it doesn't." The anger in his voice turns into bitterness.

"Josh, out there . . . on the stoop . . ." I start but he interrupts me.

"I know. We serve everybody, even the ones who want to take us down. That doesn't make it hurt any less," he says, motioning to his chest.

"Have you talked to anyone?"

"Donna . . ."

"You know what I mean. We've all ignored exactly what this has done to us. Have you talked to anyone . . ."

"You. I've talked to you every day."

"Yeah, about theories concerning random balls of string. I meant really talked to anyone," I say and he wipes his eyes again.

"I'm talking to you now," he says, pulling his hand away from his eyes and looking into mine.

"Among my many job credentials, licensed therapist isn't one of them."

"I'm afraid to call him. The guy I used to see. I'm afraid it will look like they . . . won."

"Because you needed to talk to someone?"

"Because . . . because they can't have that kind of hold over us. They can't shake us, CJ," he says, standing up off the couch and pacing before me. I wonder what kind of hell Donna has gone through in the last few months or if she thought she was protecting us from him.

"They won't."

"I survived what they did to me here. I'll be damned if I let them think they got me up here," he says, pointing first to his chest and then to his head.

"I understand, but Joshua, if you need to talk to someone . . ."

"You talk to me."

I look up at him as he stops pacing in front of me. He looks . . . lost. I know he's not lost. He just looks it. It tugs at my heart in a curious way and now I almost feel like I need to protect him from whatever tried to get him the first time around.

"Okay. . . about what?" I ask, cocking my head to side.

"Tell me what happened? I can't remember it and Donna wasn't there and I've wanted to ask someone . . ."

"We told you what happened, Josh. When you were in the hospital, we told you what happened," I explain.

"You all told me that there were two shooters in a building and one signal on the ground. You all told me that the President was shot and taken to GW first. You all told me that some girl hurt her leg and that it's a miracle that more people weren't killed or injured," he lists off. Josh starts pacing again.

"Right."

"No one has ever told me how they felt." He looks at me with imploring eyes.

"Okay."

"How it felt to be there because for the life of me I can't even remember people trying to kill me and for some reason that makes it less real," he says, still watching me.

"The scar doesn't make it real?"

He touches his chest briefly and pulls his hand away.

"Yeah."

"I can't be your therapist, Josh. I can only be your friend."

"You can tell me what it was like."

"Sam knocked me down. Saved my life and was worried I'd chase him around with coconut oil forever to make up for it. Beyond that . . ."

"Coconut oil?"

"Yeah." He smiles just a little.

"You don't remember, either?"

I shake my head slowly and look away. "I remember Toby calling . . . um, Toby called out. He found you."

My voice cracks just a little as I think about it . . . about him lying there with Toby's hands cradling his head. I try to focus on what he looks like now, not what he looked like then. I pat the spot on the couch next to me but he doesn't sit right away. Instead, he pushes up his sleeves again.

"These are really big."

"Why'd you wear them?"

"Because you were coming over."

"Oh. Well, next time you get shot, I'll try to buy the right size. Now would you just sit down," I say, patting the couch once more.

He does sit down, only closer to me this time. I take one of his hands in mine and roll up his sleeve neatly, tucking it just right so it won't fall down again. "Give me your other arm," I order and he turns to face me, putting out his arm. I finish with that sleeve and somehow I end up with my hands in his. Or his hands in mine.

Somehow. Kind of like how I ended up on the ground while glass flew overhead and bullets cascaded down around us. I got there. I just don't remember how.

And somehow he ends up in my arms and and I end up in his and I'm almost scared about where this is going. But this is Joshua Lyman. Josh, who's been there through some of the crappiest moments of my life during this administration. Josh, who almost died because of what we do.

"Josh?" I ask, not letting him go.

"Yeah?"

"You and Donna . . ."

"I'm stupid, CJ, but not that stupid," he whispers, leaning back away from me.

"We both must be pretty stupid to be doing this," I say, my one hand coming up to run through his hair. It's gotten a lot longer since he hasn't been working and it's all tousled.

"What are we doing?" he asks.

"I don't know."

"Do you want to stop?"

"I don't know. I mean, Josh, what about tomorrow?"

"I don't know," he says, taking my hands in his.

"I mean, is this just because you could have died and now you think . . ."

"I don't think anything," he says, looking at me with soft brown eyes.

"Obviously, neither of us are thinking anything," I say, leaning forwards and resting my forehead against his.

"I'm thinking something."

"So am I. But mostly it's what are we going to do about this tomorrow," I say with a sigh. Our lips are just inches apart if even that and I'm not sure what I'm doing. I'm not sure I want to know what I'm doing.

I just want to do it.

I pull my hands out of his and move them to the top button of his pajamas. He flinches just a little as I release it and move to the next one.

"It's pretty bad."

"Is that what this is about? I'm not here to build up your ego, Josh," I say, moving down to the next button before he can say anything.

"No, that isn't what this is about."

"Besides, I saw you right after you got shot. I saw what the EMTs did to you. I watched as you almost died. I don't care about this," I say, sliding my fingers into his shirt and brushing them across the scar. "What is this about, Josh?"

"Healing? Being alive again?"

"Yeah."

My mouth meets his and the kiss starts out soft. Almost too sweet. I change that quickly, sliding my tongue past his lips, making him open his mouth. Our tongues touch and pull back before moving forward again. His hand slips up to the back of my neck and he pulls me closer, trying to devour me.

Oh, God. A heat sweeps through my body, settling in my abdomen and becoming an ache. He breaks from the kiss and slides down off the couch, onto his knees in front of me.

"Are you going to be okay?" I ask, my hand returning to his chest.

"Most cardiac patients can have sex after a few weeks. It's been months . . ."

"Since you had sex or since you became a cardiac patient?" I ask, smiling.

"Both," he says, finally slipping out of the pajama top he's been swimming around in all night. I sit back a little and look at the line running down his chest. I know if I look further, I'll find an entry wound with no exit. "You've got a lot of clothes on still, CJ."

His hands feel for the side zipper on my skirt and he pulls it down slowly. I lift my hips up as he tugs my skirt off and tosses it on the couch. I take off my pantyhose and panties and sit back into the couch, feeling a little . . . naked? He unbuttons my shirt and I slip it off, looking down as he tugs up my camisole and removes my bra.

"Now you're the one with a lot of clothes on," I say, tugging at his pajama bottoms.

"Um, CJ, would you be more comfortable if we took this to the bedroom. I'm going to have to go get something out of there anyway . . . and . . ."

"Oh! Sure. That will be fine," I say, looking down at myself. Now I've got to march myself across his apartment with my ass hanging out. Not that there's anything wrong with my ass . . . it's a great ass. I'm just sure he's used to looking at 25 year old asses.

"Here," he says, as if he senses my discomfort, handing me the top to his pajamas.

"Thanks," I say, slipping it on and holding it closed in front of me. He offers me a hand and pulls me up off the couch. I end up in his arms and he smiles.

"You're . . . very tall."

"I'm not any taller than I was the last time you saw me," I say as we start to move slowly toward the other side of his apartment.

"We weren't doing this the last time I saw you."

"I-I'm pretty sure I'd remember it if we had been," I say. My hands hold onto the elastic waist in the front of his pajamas, moving just a little lower as we end up in his room. If I thought the living room was a mess . . .

"Sorry," he says, looking around. "I really wasn't expecting . . ."

"That's okay. It resembles your office in a charming and quaint way," I say, letting go of him and sitting on the edge of the bed. He fumbles through one of his drawers before coming up with a little package of condoms. He tosses them on his nightstand next to a pile of Scientific American magazines. "Josh, what was up with the physics?"

He gaze goes to the magazines. There's a lot of them. I wonder what archive Donna managed to pilfer them all from.

"Order. I was just trying to put some sort of order to it all."

"Did it work?"

"No," he says with a laugh. "Random, unexpected things still happen. I mean, look at us."

"Yeah. Look at us."

With that, I reach out and pull him towards me by the waist of his pants. His hands end up on my shoulders as I tug down his pajamas and he steps out of them. He slides the pajama top off of me right before I wrap my hand around his penis, stroking him until he's hard. He moans at my touch and the sound makes my insides tighten up again.

I can't quite be sure if I ever wanted to this with Josh before tonight but I want to do it now. Maybe if we would have slowed down once in the past few years, we would have . . . but I don't know.

I lick my lips before moving him closer. His fingers dig into my shoulders as I put my mouth over him, my tongue flicking out and teasing his erection.

"Oh, yeah," he mumbles as I take him in further. "Yeah."

His hands now tangle through my hair and his breath patterns change to something rapid and needy. The room heats up around us as I take him in as far as I can, my tongue never stopping as he slides in and out. A hot salty-sweet taste hits my tongue and I lap it up.

I cup his balls in my hand and he moans even more.

"CJ, I-I want to but I want more . . ."

I move my mouth away and he wipes the dampness from my lips with the edge of his thumb. I pull his thumb into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and he groans out softly.

"You're killing me," he says as he pulls his hand away and motions towards his chest. "I survived this only to have you kill me."

"What -- how do you want to do this? What would be the easiest for . . . um, you . . . after that?" I try to ask, not knowing exactly what to expect from him.

"I really wouldn't know," he says, sounding a little embarrassed. I don't know why. He hasn't exactly had any opportunity to get out much and Donna probably chased off any Josh Lyman groupies with a big stick.

"Come here," I say, moving across the bed and motioning for him to follow me. He crawls across on his knees and lies down next to me as we face each other. I wrap my leg up over his hip and pull him closer. He brushes a hand across my cheek and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

He leans in to kiss me and I open my mouth under his. All the while, Josh's hands slide up and down my back slowly, taking in everything. He moves them to the front and brushes his thumbs over my nipples before cupping my breasts in his palms.

"Please," I moan against his mouth as he continues to touch me, his hands so warm against my flesh. I forgot exactly how much I've missed this . . . not that I've forgotten about this part of my life but with all the long hours, it just wasn't something I could do anything about. I'm not sure why I'm doing something about it now. With Josh.

Jesus.

With Josh.

He pushes my hip gently until I'm lying on my back, his hand nudging between my thighs. I shut my eyes because I don't know what else to do or look at and his fingers make contact with my clit and for a second I really think hard about what it's going to be like when he comes back to work but then he goes a little faster and a little harder and I stop thinking.

Or at least I stop thinking about tomorrow. I continue to think about what he's doing to me and how badly I need to feel him inside of me right now. He switches hands and doesn't stop what he's doing as he reaches behind him for the condom.

"I have to . . ." he says, holding up the package and motioning towards his erection.

"Yeah. That's fine," I say and he stops touching me. I replace his fingers with my own and he just stares at my hand circling and circling.

He pulls the condom down over himself and then returns to his side, pulling me to mine. I put my leg back over his waist and I feel his penis brush against my sex. The contact makes me shudder and I really do want this. Even if it is stupid, I want it.

"Is this okay?" he asks and I shake my head, not knowing what could be wrong. "Like this -- is this okay?"

"If you're okay, so am I," I say, brushing my fingers over his lips.

He slips into me slowly and I feel all those long unused muscles begin to give in and get used to it again. His eyes flutter shut as I tighten around him, holding him there.

"Yeah."

I don't know what to say. Everything that comes to mind seems so trite right at the moment, so I don't say anything.

Josh begins to move his hips, sliding in and out of me while his hands dance over my skin. He twists around enough to touch my clit again and it feels wonderful.

He opens his eyes and looks at me, a smile crossing his face.

"What?" I ask, finding it hard to speak even that much.

"Nothing," he says and closes his eyes.

We both continue to move against each other and soon I begin to feel everything unwind inside of me. It goes so slowly and feels so good and I don't want it to end. The contractions take hold and I can't stop them from washing over me.

"That's . . . oh . . ." I say incoherently and he opens his eyes to watch me come. He doesn't stop moving, his hips pistoning faster and he starts to pant.

I put my hand to his chest and feel his heart race as fast as mine. It's a feeling that goes all the way through me, warming me everywhere.

With a final, loud groan, he comes, too. His eyes shut again and a look of pleasure crosses his face as his body spasms beside mine. Soon, too soon, he stills and sighs with contentment. And he's silent. Joshua Lyman is silent. I should have tried this years ago. He doesn't say a word for quite a while and the room is so quiet.

"Thanks . . ." he finally says and for a second I'm a little offended. I didn't do this as a favor to him. He holds onto the condom and slips out of my body, disposing of it at the bedside.

"For what?" I ask and he takes my hand in his, his fingers playing with mine.

"Helping me put some things in order. Listening to me try to do it every day . . . try to be somewhere I couldn't be. Thanks for being here now," he says, looking at me again.

"What did you put in order?" I ask, reaching for the blankets to cover us. I snuggle in next to him, with no intentions of getting up out of this bed any time soon.

"What's important. Why we all survived. Why I survived," he says. I'm so used to seeing Josh running around trying to do this or that I occasionally forget that he can sit down and be quite thoughtful at times.

"Why is that?" I ask. "Why did you survive?"

"So I can be alive. That's what I figured out. No theory can really explain life."

"Can I open with that tomorrow morning?" I ask and he laughs.

"Only if you credit me with it," he says, his hands still moving across my body.

"I can hear it now . . . in post-coital bliss, Joshua Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff now fully recovered from his wounds, has postulated what can only be a non-theory theory that says no theory can really explain life."

"I'd skip the post-coital part for the sake of appearances and try not to say theory so many times, but I say go with the rest," he says with a heavy, sleepy sigh.

"We'll see what other news we have tomorrow," I say, moving around enough to give him a kiss. "I mean, we did just have an election today. Your non-theory theory might have to be bumped to the afternoon briefing."

"It's a good theory for not being a theory."

"I know it is," I say, nestling back into his arms. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're back."

"So am I."

***********

The End


End file.
